


deliberate and afraid of nothing

by beanierose



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: M/M, katya bottoming, this might be my most feral yet y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23282665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanierose/pseuds/beanierose
Summary: i don’t believe each person has just one true love, but sometimes we don’t have enough time to find another. (that’s the way it crumbles.  cookie-wise.)
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 28
Kudos: 138
Collections: isolation creation station





	deliberate and afraid of nothing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mattepinkallshades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattepinkallshades/gifts).



> one of the things that i've become most keenly aware of the last few weeks is how precious friendship is. i am so fortunate to have met some amazing people in this fandom, and we ran a little fic exchange to give ourselves something positive to focus on. we all picked a prompt from [this list](https://sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com/post/155287327552/50-a-softer-world-prompts) that we wanted filled, and i got to write something for [mattepinkallshades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattepinkallshades) which is honestly a dream come true. many thanks as always to [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter) for looking this one over for me, and for being the greatest. i don't know what any of us would do without you - let's never find out, m'kay?

the title is from audre lorde's _new year's day_

* * *

Trixie makes himself wait a whole year. One calendar year, Mary. Who’s an impatient bottom now? It’s not like it takes him that long to realise; he knows right away. It starts out as just an inkling, because every time his phone lights up with Katya’s name his whole body is luminescent and fizzing with joy. On the rare occasion Katya texts first to check in, Trixie sits there picking at the corner of his phone case and waiting for it to start ringing. His mama did raise a bald crossdressing fag, but he’s no fool. He has an idea of what it means.

It isn’t until Katya is right there, in Trixie’s house, that he knows for sure.

“Hey,” Katya says easily when Trixie opens the door, and Trixie drops to his knees and pulls him inside by the belt loops, blows him right there in the entryway.

It’s not a totally unprecedented move. They’ve talked so much since they wrapped filming and went home to opposite sides of the country. At first it was just good to have somebody to help him extrapolate his trauma, but their phone conversations got longer and later and then one time, at two in the morning eastern standard time, Katya had said _you know, I cannot stop thinkin’ about pounding your perfect keister_. Trixie, scandalised at barely eleven pm, had shrieked and hung up the call. But then a little later he’d texted Katya _now i’m thinking about that too, so that’s cool_. After that, their conversations grew more charged. The certainty of what would happen when they next saw each other was like a third presence listening in to each call, breathing down the back of both of their necks in every too-long pause, every rough swallow.

So. It’s fine for Trixie to have Katya’s dick in his mouth before he’s even said hello back.

Katya looks beautiful, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon in Los Angeles. His head is tipped back against the door, exposing the long, elegant line of his neck interrupted by a crest of cartilage. Trixie looks up at Katya, his eyes closed and mouth open and dick red and dripping, and he thinks _I’m in love with you_. And then he waits an entire year to say it.

When it does finally happen, it’s a Tuesday. Katya lives in LA now, but a frisson of pleasure still goes through Trixie every time he opens the door to him. Trixie is sitting on the kitchen countertop watching Katya drink a whole pint of water. He came straight here from the gym and he looks like he fucking sprinted here, shirtless and glistening and funky-smelling. He runs hot all the time — they wake up most mornings with the sheets on the floor and Katya draped over Trixie — and when he’s just home from working out Trixie finds himself wanting to warm his palms over Katya’s chest.

Trixie talks a big game about his Fitness Journey, but Katya’s like, _in it_. He has actual muscles and an actual vein hurtling in a zigzag down his actual temple. He looks the way he does when he’s really focused, when he’s balancing in half moon pose or when he’s fucking Trixie over the back of the couch and holding his head up by the jaw to make him look at them together in the mirror opposite.

Trixie reaches out and traces that vein with the pad of his finger, and Katya makes a discontented noise but he doesn’t move away, doesn’t even flinch anymore. He’s at his most patient and kind and tactile when he’s like this, fresh from the gym or right as they’re falling asleep. His brain quiets enough that he’ll let Trixie snuggle up to him and hide his face against Katya’s throat.

“Hi,” Trixie says, and loops his arm around Katya’s neck. It’s disgusting, it’s so slippery that he can’t even get a good grip, but he stays right there.

“Hello hi, Tallulah,” Katya rasps back at him in that bizarre mid-Atlantic death rattle. Trixie had to put her foot down and ban that voice from their bedroom. All voices, thank you so much. He doesn’t even really like to fuck Katya. He fucks Brian, and it’s Brian’s voice he wants to hear right against the shell of his ear, telling him _yeah, baby, just like that, you’re doing so good_.

“So here’s something super embarrassing,” Trixie says as breezily as he can manage. “I’m. . . I love you, I guess.”

Katya’s eyes get very wide and he slithers out of Trixie’s grip. For one awful, eternal moment, Trixie thinks that he’s about to bolt right out of the door and right across the country, go back to Boston and never talk to Trixie again, pretend his time in Los Angeles was just a weird little blip and he’s totally fine and back to normal now. He doesn’t. Instead, he steps in close and frames Trixie’s face in both hands, kisses him hot and wet and salt-tasting. Trixie gives himself over to it completely, immediately. Katya’s long, lithe body is between Trixie’s thighs, and it feels so good.

When they separate, a string of saliva connects their mouths and Katya gathers it on the pad of his thumb, leaving his other hand at Trixie’s jaw. “You are the _most_ gay fuckin’ bald idiot fag in the known universe,” Katya tells him very seriously. “And I love you, too. As well.”

That time, they don’t even make it out of the kitchen. They don’t even make it out of their _clothes_. Trixie shifts his hips forwards on the countertop until his dick is pressed against Katya’s and they thrust roughly, sloppily, breathing raggedly into each other’s mouths.

After that, Trixie allows himself to say it maybe one in every twentieth time that it comes into his mouth. He thinks it all the fucking time; it’s always right there. He thinks it when they’re hiking and Katya disappears up the side of a boulder to throw his head back and moan and gyrate, and he asks Trixie to please take video for Instagram. When Trixie comes home from a gig to find Katya dozing on the couch, and he lifts the blanket and pats the couch cushion next to him and whines until Trixie comes to sit with him and watch the end of some insane foreign film from the seventies. When Katya is thrusting into him and cradling his head, his pointy elbows braced against the tops of Trixie’s shoulders, and he’s looking down at him like his vision has blurred around the edges and there is only Trixie.

He says it in the grocery store when Katya comes back to the cart with a two pound bag of Skittles in his arms and his face soft with little-kid bashfulness. He says it on the phone a lot, especially when they’re on opposite sides of the world. It’s easiest when he doesn’t have to look at Katya, even though half the time he says _oh god gross_ and hangs up. He always calls right back and his voice is coloured with intimacy when he says _I love you too, Trix_. It’s when he sounds the most like himself.

They have a couple really good years under their belts, and Trixie is getting restless. He feels fidgety, like there’s something living right beneath the surface of his skin that itches. They’ve talked in ephemeral terms about moving in together. It’s too much for Katya and not nearly enough for Trixie. He needs all that dumb gay shit; he needs promises, he needs Katya to choose him every time. It’s making him irritable, and he can’t stop bratting. When they’ve fucked, lately, it’s been end-of-the-world good.

Katya is due home tonight from nearly three months of tour. They’ve talked every single day, gotten each other off over the phone a hundred times, but the loneliness aches in the pit of Trixie’s stomach. It’s a creature that pads in restless, concentric circles inside so that Trixie has to delicately skirt around it, not look at it too closely. Last week, Trixie jacked off with Katya’s voice in his Airpods telling him how good he was doing the whole time without even really pausing for breath, telling him how sexy he is and how bad Katya wished he was inside of him. Afterwards, he’d started crying and had to hide his face against the pillow and listen to Katya babying him, his voice light with teasing but getting more and more gentle the longer he went on.

 _I just miss you_ , he’d eventually managed to say. _I just want to touch you_.

Tour scares him. He knows better than to ask too much of Katya, ask for awful scary things like commitment. He doesn’t think Katya would like, _cheat on him_ or whatever. As much as he jokes about loving the theater of it, it’d break his poor fucking little gay heart. Whenever Katya’s tweeted about being horny — so about once every three days — there’s been hundreds of people in Trixie’s mentions telling him _Go to her, Mom!_ Like he doesn’t wish he could do that so badly it feels like his body is brittle, like it doesn’t make his joints ache with longing.

Anyway. Whatever, Beth. His gay lover is coming home to him tonight. Katya is already at his own apartment, dropping off his stuff and packing a bag of sweatpants and weird haunted tees to come spend a few days at Trixie’s. He wouldn’t let Trixie come get him from the airport, said he wanted to go freshen up like a good little wife before he sees him. Trixie’s house is cleaner than the day he moved in; everything is alphabetised and he got on his hands and knees and dusted the baseboards like the true fuckin’ bottom he is. There’s nothing left to do now except sit very still on the couch and try not to think about his dick, about how he’s already on edge enough that just the brush of the pilled material of his sweatpants over the head of it is making his body jolt like two frayed wires made to touch.

It feels unsafe to tell Katya how he feels. Like, he knows they’re in love. He knows Katya loves him. But he also knows that Katya doesn’t like sentimentality, that he’s made uncomfortable by tenderness. Trixie wants next steps. He wants so badly to have certainty, to know that Katya is going to keep coming home to him over and over. The thought of actually asking him for that brings an unpleasant acrid taste into the back of his throat. He feels very fragile, and he’s afraid of what will happen when Katya gets home.

The door unlocks. Trixie hears the snib thunk backward and is off the couch like it’s a gunshot. He’s already in the entryway when Katya comes into the apartment. Trixie feels clumsy and stupid and he falls right into Katya’s arms and chokes out one single, dry, humiliating sob. Katya laughs and brings one arm up higher to cradle Trixie’s head against him. “Oh, honey, it’s okay. Everybody already knows you’re gay. You don’t have to prove it.”

“Sorry,” Trixie gruffs out. He has it together again already, just that easily. It feels so good just to hold him. Just to be held. Katya smells exactly like himself, and Trixie breathes in another couple good lungfuls before he straightens up to look at him. “Hi. Sorry.”

“Hello, Tina-Marie.” Katya’s eyes rake slowly over Trixie and his face is alive, impish, delighted. “God, you are so sexy. What do I do? What are any of us gonna do?”

Katya drops his duffel on the ground next to them and frames Trixie’s face in both hands, angling his jaw and holding him in place. They kiss for a long time, desperate and wet and deep. Trixie paws uselessly at Katya’s ass in his sweatpants and pins their hips together, feels Katya’s dick already hardening against his own. He tastes like gum, but it’s not in his mouth like sometimes happens. He’s getting better at remembering to spit it out before he insists that Trixie make out with him _right now_.

“How was your flight?” Trixie asks when they separate, like they didn’t talk on the phone for Katya’s whole Uber ride back to his apartment. Katya is breathing raggedly and his chin and jaw are prickly with regrowth. Trixie strokes over Katya’s face with the very tips of his fingers and Katya makes this low rumbling noise of contentment and closes his eyes, orients his face up towards Trixie’s touch like it’s sunlight.

“Good.”

“Yeah?”

Katya grimaces and his eyes pop open again. They’re blown black in the low light of the apartment. “No. Awful. You know I had a boner the _entire_ time. And I couldn’t stop thinking about my sweet, virtuous wife waiting patiently for me at our humble homestead.”

“Oh sure,” Trixie says. “She sounds nice. When can I meet her?”

That makes Katya shriek a laugh and he kisses Trixie again. It’s easier this time, less raw, and Trixie lets Katya bite down on his bottom lip until it tastes like iron.

“Trixie,” Katya says against his mouth. “Can I please blow you now? I haven’t seen a dick other than my own for such a long time.”

“You can still see yours? I thought it’d probably’ve turned black and shrivelled up by now after so much disuse.”

Katya wheezes and puts the flats of both palms against Trixie’s chest, shoves him harder than feels necessary at this juncture. Trixie’s laughing too, and he straightens his baseball cap. He feels fidgety with need, unsure what to do with his hands.

“No one said anything about disuse. I’ve pulled the padge pretty much every day I’ve been gone, thinking about you and the garbage can lid you call your ass,” Katya says. “It’s just been a solitary activity.”

“You know, I haven’t been with anyone either,” Trixie says. He’s stupidly proud of how evenly his voice comes out, even though his dick is fully straining in his pants right now. He allows himself to be walked backwards through the living room and pushed down to sit on the couch. “You’re not the only one who hasn’t gotten fucked in months, Katya.”

“Well we’re just gonna have to rectify that situation immediately, aren’t we honey.”

Katya hooks both hands in the waistband of Trixie’s sweats and pulls them roughly down to his knees. He feels trussed and a little claustrophobic, but then Katya rakes his short boy nails up the outsides of Trixie’s thighs until he can press his thumbs hard into the creases of Trixie’s hips. Trixie’s breath stutters like an interrupted signal and he lets his head thud back against the couch. When Katya touches him it is all analog, all smooth waves of want. He wasn’t wearing any underwear — it seemed like an unnecessary obstacle — and his dick is just _out_ now, looming insistently between them. Dripping.

“God, I missed you,” Katya says to Trixie’s cock, his nose almost brushing it.

A screech like Miss Gay Macaw 1997 ricochets out of Trixie and he hides his face from Katya behind both hands. Trixie sucks a breath through his teeth when Katya’s mouth finally touches him. He’s teasing, circling the head of Trixie’s dick with the flat of his tongue, but before Trixie can open his mouth to beg Katya leans forward and swallows Trixie down, moaning obscenely around the weight of Trixie’s dick in his skull.

“Wait,” Trixie gasps, and curls his fingers around Katya’s ears to tug him away. “Wait, wait. Hold _on_ , Denise.”

If he’s gonna do this, be brave enough, it has to be now. Katya is at his most agreeable when he’s hard. He will say yes to most things if he thinks it’ll get Trixie’s dick back in his mouth again. And it’s been months since they’ve seen each other. If Katya feels even half as tender towards Trixie as Trixie does him, this is his best shot.

“ _What_ , baby?” Katya says without lifting his eyes from Trixie’s dick. He’s so close still that Trixie can feel his tight, hot breaths.

Trixie lets his hand slide around to the back of Katya’s stupid bald head. The skin there is so soft, erection-tender, and he can feel his pulse humming just faintly at the base of his skull. “Katya. I want you to come home to me every time. From tour.”

“Am I not here in your house right now, Tracy? I’m not an apparition- don’t!” He holds up a hand, palm out, to shut Trixie up. It isn’t needed; there’s no dumb joke bubbling right now.

“No, I’m- oh, _my_ god. You’re really gonna make me say it, huh? I fucking hate you so much.” Katya’s giggly, and he looks so good between Trixie’s spread knees. Trixie looks down at him there, and he thinks about how it felt like he was gonna die every day he woke up alone in a too-cold bed. “You’re the love of my fucking life, you actual swamp creature. I don’t know how that happened, what voodoo bullshit got pulled, but. . . you are.”

All of the laughter slips right off of Katya’s face, and he goes very still. “For now.”

“Huh?”

“For now,” he says again. “You know I don’t really believe in all that stuff. You know that, Tracy. People don’t have just one person that’s right for them.”

Trixie goes hot all over, feels himself turning humiliation-pink. It’s spreading up his thighs and across his chest. He’s suddenly very aware that Katya is still fully clothed, and he feels like he’s standing with all of the viscera of himself on the outside, clutched in his graceless hands.

“Oh.”

“I don’t mean- Trixie. _Brian_. Don’t. Listen to me.” Trixie thinks that Katya might get up from the ground but he doesn’t. Instead, he pillows his cheek against Trixie’s knee and looks up at him with those enormous, outrageous blue eyes. “I love you. I really do. But who’s to say some seven foot tall bear with fuckin’ buck teeth isn’t gonna show up in your life tomorrow? Huh? What then.”

Trixie wants to touch him. He always wants to touch him, that’s kind of his defaut state, but he feels especially galvanised right now. All of his limbs keep twitching like coming down, like the rosy glow of just after, and he hasn’t even come yet.

“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter to me who might show up in my life in the future. You’re here now. I want you to move in with me, Katya.” Yeah, thank you, he hears how whiny his voice has gotten. He can’t help it. It feels like all of his vital organs have tumbled down together into the pit of his stomach and they’re sloshing around in there.

“It scares me,” Katya whispers. “What we have. . . it takes work. What if someone else would be easier? A better fit for you.”

Trixie slides right off the couch then and into Katya’s lap. It’s a clumsy jumble of limbs until he arranges himself properly, kicks his sweats all the way off and gets his knees either side of Katya’s thighs. He rolls his hips down just once, just to feel how hard Katya is for him, and it makes him grunt and drop his head back against the couch cushion.

“I like doing the work,” Trixie tells him. It feels intimate, amniotic, to be here pressed against the couch together. It makes Trixie’s heart feel wide open. “Like, bitch. It’s effort, but it’s not _hard_.”

Katya’s hand comes between their bodies and he palms Trixie’s dick, not jerking him, just letting Trixie’s hips stutter forwards into that small touch. “Something’s hard.”

“You know what?” Trixie says, and it comes out approximately four octaves higher than feels necessary. “Never mind. Forget it. Get out of my house.”

He can’t keep it up for more than five seconds. Not when Katya’s slender, intelligent fingers have wrapped around him and are sliding slowly up and down. They kiss a little bit, slow and careful, and then Katya breaks away to look at Trixie again. “Are you committed to this particular venue? Because I’d really love to move this to your bed. If I don’t get to touch you soon I’m gonna die.”

“I need an answer first,” Trixie says very quietly.

He hates that he’s like this, that he’s hitting Katya with this Brady Bunch realness right after he’s gotten off of an international flight, but he can’t help it. They aren’t ever gonna have kids, they’ll probably never get married; he wants to matter. He wants to mean something to Katya, beyond just getting his dick wet.

Katya groans and covers his eyes with his free hand. Trixie is, again, furious at how gorgeous Katya is without seeming to try at all. “Oh, Trixie, I don’t know. Can’t we just be this? Isn’t this so good?”

He spits into his palm and speeds up the work of his hand over Trixie’s cock, the fucking criminal, and Trixie empties his lungs in shock and need. He feels absurd, ridiculous, sitting here on the living room floor with his t-shirt still on and his dick out like this is the Hundred Acre Wood.

“You are the worst person I know,” Trixie says, and tumbles forward to kiss Katya again. It feels so good, all of it, the way Katya’s jaw buzzes when he chuckles into Trixie’s mouth. And it’s been _months_ , Mary. He’s so turned on his brain feels like static between his ears.

The tag at the back of Katya’s shirt is sticking up, and Trixie feels insane about it. He’s just edging towards being hysterical with want, his touch frantic, but Katya keeps kissing him and kissing him, and the hand not wrapped around Trixie’s dick is stroking up and down the length of his thigh.

When it starts to feel unsafe, when the connection between his brain and his dick is severed completely, Trixie gets up from the ground and heads for the bedroom, Katya warm and insistent right at his back. He strips his shirt up over his head as he goes and lets it knock his baseball cap off too, leaves them both dumped in the hallway.

Trixie gets onto the bed in one fluid motion and waits there, sprawled in the middle of the mattress with one arm bent behind his head so he can watch Katya get undressed. As soon as he’s naked he crawls onto the bed until he’s over Trixie on his hands and knees. Trixie’s dick twitches at the sight of Katya looming above him and he spreads his thighs in invitation.

“Do you know I thought about this every single day?” Katya says, and drops his head to kiss Trixie. It’s fast, and Trixie arches to chase Katya’s mouth when he breaks away again. “Your thighs, your ass, your stupid face. How it feels to be inside you. I didn’t even _want_ to fuck anybody else, Trix. Couldn’t imagine it.”

Katya drops down so that he’s laying between Trixie’s legs and their dicks are pressed together. It feels so good that they just rut mindlessly against each other and kiss hungrily for a while. Katya has his thumb at the underside of Trixie’s chin and is pressing hard to angle his head just right, so he can lick into Trixie’s mouth. Trixie wraps his hand around both of their dicks, slick with precum, and jerks them together. It’s been so long that he feels alight, electric, so close it tastes urgent in his mouth.

When Katya lifts his head again he looks wrecked, his whole chest lifting and collapsing with each breath. For a moment, all Trixie can do is stare up at him. They’re in love, they are; there’s nobody else Trixie wants like this. Katya’s Adam’s apple jumps in his neck, and he cradles the side of Trixie’s face in one hand.

“Trixie, I want you to fuck me.”

“Oh sure,” Trixie says easily.

Katya likes a finger or two from time to time, usually while Trixie is blowing him. And he knows that Katya’d been experimenting with anal while he was on tour because he’d named the two dildos he’d brought with him — Cynthia and Helen — and he’d had Trixie pick which one he used each time.

“No, Trixie.” Katya’s fingers close around Trixie’s wrist to stop his hand inching further between his legs. “I want you to _fuck me_.”

Trixie head gets full with the noise of a dial tone. Nobody’s home, Marie. They’ve done a lot of things, but not that. Never that. It’s not like Trixie _can’t_. Everything works just fine, thank you. It’s just that Katya historically is not super into bottoming, and Trixie is perfectly happy to be bent over every surface in their homes for the rest of their lives.

“Are. . . are you sure? Can you like- you think you can take it?”

Katya snorts. “What’d you think I’ve been practicing for, girl? They’re surely not giving out certificates for participation.”

“Okay.” Trixie lets out a slow, shuddering breath. “Okay. Yeah. We can do that. If you- you’re sure?”

Katya reaches over to the nightstand drawer and fishes around inside for the lube. He passes it over and says, “I’m sure, Trixie. I want it. I want you inside me.”

Trixie pops the cap on the bottle and Katya’s hips twitch. The plasticky smell of lube fills the room and he coats his fingers generously, reaches around to rub the excess against Katya’s ass. He knows how this part goes. “You good like this?” he asks, and Katya nods a couple times. His eyes flutter closed and his face goes totally smooth. Trixie pushes the tip of his index finger inside up to the first knuckle and pauses there. Katya slides one knee over Trixie’s thigh to open up a little more, and Trixie’s finger slides easily the rest of the way in.

“That feel good?”

“You know it feels like nothing, you trick-ass ho.” Katya’s eyes pop open again and he narrows them at Trixie. “I’m not joking, bitch. I can take it. C’mon. Get on with it.”

Trixie lifts both brows. “Oh wow, that’s so like, _deeply_ romantic.”

He adds his middle finger and fucks Katya slowly. Really, he’s doing almost none of the work; Katya’s hips are rocking back against Trixie’s hand. He lets his other hand slide around and grabs a handful of Katya’s ass just to hear the surprised, pleased little noise he makes in the back of his throat. Trixie adds a third finger and Katya moans loudly. This is as far as they’ve gotten, together, and Trixie’s tongue feels useless in his mouth without the weight of Katya’s dick.

“You are so stupid, huh? You think I’d let anybody else touch me like this?” Katya says. Trixie makes a small, desperate noise and lifts his head off the pillows to kiss Katya again.

He angles his fingers, finds Katya’s prostate like he’s in his own body and strokes over it a few times. It makes Katya’s whole body jolt, makes him let out a low guttural noise. “You look. . . really good,” Trixie says quietly, and Katya snorts a breath through his nose that’s almost a laugh. He lets Trixie fuck him open a little longer and then he gasps and arches, his eyes enormous in the pale moon of his face.

“ _Fuck_ , Trixie. You gotta. . . I want- please.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Trixie draws his fingers out slowly and reaches into the drawer again for a condom. He rolls it on hastily, Katya tugging on his own dick and watching the work of Trixie’s fingers. Trixie squirts another generous helping of lube onto his fingers and slicks his cock. “Tell me where you want me.”

Katya takes a moment to actually consider it, and then he nods very seriously. “This is good. I want you right here.”

“Brian,” Trixie says, and Katya’s eyes fly to his face. “You tell me the second it’s not good and we’ll stop. Don’t let me hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna, honey.”

Trixie knows how it feels, to need it so bad it feels like his skin has pooled at his feet. How good it is when Katya first pushes inside him. He wants that for him, wants Katya to feel so good. He wraps a hand around his own cock and helps Katya to position himself with his knees either side of Trixie’s thighs, stays very still as Katya takes him inside all the way in one slow, steady motion.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ ,” Katya breathes. “You are. . . a lot bigger than Helen.”

“You okay?”

Katya’s eyes are closed, and there’s a little crevasse between his brows like he’s concentrating super hard. “Mm. Just- need a second.”

Trixie lets his hands drift all over, Katya’s thighs, his ass, the rippling muscles in his shoulders and back. Once he’s adjusted he starts rolling his hips, not even lifting up, just grinding over Trixie. Trixie is trying very hard not to think about himself, trying to focus on Katya, but it feels so fucking good. It’s incendiary, being inside him.

“Oh, god,” Katya says, and breaks off into a moan. Trixie rocks his hips up the tiniest bit, just to see. Katya’s making these tiny, mindless keening noises, but when Trixie starts to fuck into him his mouth drops open and he goes quiet. He’s staring down at Trixie, his face so close that their noses are touching. “That’s. . . you. . .”

Trixie has one hand at Katya’s back to help him find a rhythm, but he brings the other to his cheek and draws him down into a kiss. It’s directionless, because Katya’s breathing so raggedly and okay, fine, Trixie isn’t doing much better.

“Tell me,” Trixie asks.

“It’s so good.” Katya’s face is soft with wonder. “I didn’t know that it could be this good.”

Katya is shivering with pleasure, and Trixie clutches desperately at his thighs and does his best to keep up the pace they’ve set. He braces his feet against the mattress and bends his knees to give himself a little more room to maneuver, and Katya’s legs curl around Trixie’s until his feet are underneath Trixie’s thighs.

“You feel. . . oh my god,” Trixie tells him. He lets Katya rock over him as deep as he needs, arrested by the breathy, astonished noises that he’s making. Katya’s dick is so wet between their stomachs and Trixie wants so badly to get his hands on it, but the angle is all wrong. Instead, he palms Katya’s ass with both hands to spread him open wider and he drives up into him harder.

“Trixie, Trixie, please,” Katya says. He goes still, and Trixie does too. “Could you, uh- just. . . fuck.”

He waits, stays as still as he can, and he doesn’t whine when Katya lifts himself off of his cock even though it feels as if he’s the one who’s empty. Katya’s whole body is quivering, and Trixie has to help him get his leg back over Trixie’s thighs so he’s kneeling next to him on the mattress.

“You wanna stop?”

“No!” Katya blurts immediately. It makes Trixie crack open on a grin and Katya echoes it, leaning down to kiss him gently. “I would like very much if you could, um. . . get behind me?”

Katya lays down on his side on the bed and Trixie arranges himself according to his direction, the fronts of his thighs pressed against the backs of Katya’s. He gets one hand at the back of his neck and hooks his other arm around the underside of Katya’s thigh to hold his leg up between them. Trixie pushes slowly inside of him and Katya’s head drops back against the pillows, his eyes closed again. Like this, Katya can get his own hand around his dick and he jerks himself slowly, matching the rhythm of Trixie’s cock inside him.

“That feel good, baby?” Trixie asks, and then they shriek in stereo like a pair of trapped, tortured souls because it’s so completely incorrect. “Sorry, sorry. Ew. I won’t do that ever again.”

Katya cranes his neck backwards in a way that would leave Trixie with seven slipped discs in his spine, and kisses him sloppily. “It does. It feels _so_ good. Who knew you had it in ya?”

“You know, if you moved in with me-” Trixie fucks into him a little harder and Katya moans wildly. “You could have this whenever you wanted.”

He can have this whenever he wants _now_ and they both know it, but Katya is kind enough not to bring that up. Or maybe it’s just that his brain is looking in from the outside right now, fogging up the glass. Trixie opens his mouth over Katya’s throat, his shoulder, his ear, leaving little pink smudges all over his skin.

“I want to.” Trixie goes still, and Katya whines and rocks sharply back against him. “I will. Yes. Okay. We can do that, just- _god_.”

Trixie fucks up into Katya hard enough that it makes him actually gasp, and he wraps his free arm — the one not holding Katya’s leg up — around his waist to splay his hand at his stomach. “Yeah?”

“ _Yes_ , you hateful bitch. Fine. I will come live in your Dreamhouse with you.”

Trixie gulps down something he’s extremely worried might’ve been a sob. “I don’t care if there’s somebody else,” he says desperately, against the side of Katya’s face. “I only want you. You’re the worst fuckin’ sack of bones I’ve ever met in my life, and I am so fucking in love with you.”

“Trixie, fuck, _please_ ,” Katya moans, and then he’s coming, spilling sticky all over his own knuckles and their sheets.

Trixie fucks hard into him a few more thrusts and then he comes too, his body twisting in snapped-spine pleasure as he bottoms out and his thighs meet Katya’s ass. It takes a little while for their breathing to settle. When it does, Trixie tells Katya, “Easy, now. This part’s weird,” and pulls out of him as carefully as he can. Katya rolls over immediately and wraps his arm around Trixie, hiding his face against his neck. Trixie thinks he could be blushing, maybe. “Okay?”

“ _Yeah_.”

Trixie lets him be shy for as long as he needs. Eventually, he’s going to have to get up and deal with the condom, put fresh sheets on the bed, shower. For right now, it’s nice to enjoy the five fucking minutes of stillness Katya is capable of in one calendar year. When he lifts his head, his face is still pink but his eyes are blue again and he has this goofy, bashful little smile.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Katya says into the quiet. The room is so still it feels like the aftermath of something awful. “I do think that there are other people out there, for both of us. But. . . of all the ones I could’ve found, I’m glad it’s you.”

**Author's Note:**

> i am over on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie), if you want to chat! i'd love to hear what you thought. i hope you're taking care of yourselves ♡


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